Fort Kristanna Prompts
by Jessy Rhian
Summary: Weekly fics based on prompts supplied by Fort Kristanna on tumblr.
1. Chapter 1 - Comfort

AN: This week's prompt was comfort.

Rated: K? - it's fine for everyone.

Pairing: Kristanna, although Elsa features a lot.

Summary: Elsa is overwhelmed. Olaf and Anna try to help. Kristoff saves the day (because, you know, he's good at stuff like that).

Disclaimer - Disney owns Frozen :)

* * *

Anna stomped down the palace steps and across the sunny courtyard. It was early, only just past breakfast time, and already she was cross. Kristoff was there, packing up his sled for a short trip up the mountain.

"Hey." He glanced up at her as she flounced past and flumped down onto the back of the sled with a huff. "Um, hey?" He tried again. "Anna?" He sighed, dropped the ropes he was holding and walked round to stand in front of her, arms crossed. Waiting.

"She's been shut up in that study for weeks!"

He smiled slightly. "Don't you think that's a bit of an exaggeration?"

"No!" Anna replied vehemently. "I feel like I haven't seen her for days!"

"You saw her last night at dinner."

"That doesn't count," she pouted. "When was the last time we did something, a fun something, together?"

"Anna." He leant down to clasp his hands around her upper arms. "Your sister is the Queen. She has a whole kingdom to take care of. It's not all parties and balls and you know that. So why don't you tell me what the real problem is, huh?" His voice was soft. His eyes sought hers but she remained stubbornly staring out over his shoulder. She bit her lip.

"She locked the door." Her voice was so quiet, and all of a sudden her eyes filled with tears. Kristoff sat down on the sled next to her and pulled her into his arms, so that her head rested on his chest.

"Oh, Anna." He kissed her hair. Even a year after the two sisters had reconciled, old fears still never really went away. Elsa was usually adamant about leaving her doors open, to the point of ridiculousness at times. Kristoff winced at the memory of walking up to Anna's room with Kai one morning, and the two of them coming across the Queen changing out of her nightgown, her bedroom door wide open. "Listen, you know she's not shutting you out. At least not in that way. She's probably just busy, or feeling ill, like a headache or something, and doesn't want to be disturbed. She needs a little privacy every now and then, right? She could be, I don't know, planning a mad surprise party? Or entertaining one of those suitors that keep trying to get her attention?"

Anna snorted. "You mean one of those lame-ass noblemen who keep sending her pretty trinkets? I doubt it. Do you know she has to be nice to them and everything? Because I so would not. I'd tell them to stick their love letters up their– "

Kristoff cut her off with a loud laugh. After a moment or two he said, "The thing is, you know that even if she locks the door she's going to open it again, and come down and eat dinner with us, and tell you off for eating too fast, and tell me off for using the wrong fork, and she's going to do it all and smile. Because that's what she's done every night for the last year, right? I love you, she loves you, Olaf loves you, and Sven… Well, I think Sven wants to marry you because you feed him more carrots than I do these days and he's getting fat."

Anna giggled. Kristoff always knew how to make her feel better. She kissed his cheek, and helped him pack the rest of the things into the sled, and waved him off with a grin, before heading to the kitchens to find some more of those pastries they'd had for breakfast, because those were delicious.

* * *

Up in the castle, behind the locked doors of her study, Elsa wanted to scream. _How _had everything avalanched so spectacularly on top of her? "Stupid Mayor," she grumbled, poking around on her desk for the right bit of paper in amongst hundreds of others. "This is NOT a good time to resign! Blah! Where is that letter?!"

She felt like crying. She felt like flinging her crown out of the window and giving up on the whole thing. How could there be so much to do? And why did everyone suddenly need everything doing all at once?

"Elsa?" Olaf called through the doors. "Are you in there?"

Elsa gave up trying to find the letter from some Duke or other, and flopped her head down onto the desk.

"Yeah, I'm sorry Olaf, I'm in here, I'm just… really, really busy today, and– "

"Hi!"

"Olaf!" Elsa jumped. The snowman was stood right next to her, reattaching his nose.

"The door was locked," he said simply.

Elsa resisted the urge to shout at him. _Wow_, she thought, _I must really be close to losing it if I'm thinking of yelling at a snowman who has no concept of personal space or privacy or those missives I need to answer or the funds to repair the harbour wall or the stupid Mayor resigning or the billion and one trade agreements that need reviewing or the–_

"Elsa?"

"Oh, sorry, Olaf." She rubbed a hand across her face. "I am just so busy right now, do you think you could just– "

"Help? Sure I can!" He proceeded to poke around in the piles of letters and documents she had stacked beside her. His flurry started falling and melting all over the books. He was leaving damp patches on her carefully finished and sealed letters, smudging the ink.

"Olaf! Please, just stop. I don't need help. I'm sorry. I just… need to be left alone to sort all this. I'm so sorry. Please, just, can you go?"

It was utterly amazing just how much expression could fit onto a snowman's face, especially when that expression stabbed at her like guilt-laden knives. Olaf half-nodded, and Elsa felt horrible, and then he turned and left, his little feet leaving damp prints across the wooden floor, head, arms and nose drooping. Elsa resumed her previous position. Head on the desk, frown on her face and tears in her eyes.

* * *

Anna had kept herself occupied all morning, and it was after lunch when she headed upstairs to Elsa's study. She knocked on the door, and called out "Elsa?" before trying the door handle. Surprisingly, it opened.

"Hey, I just thought I'd drop in for a while, maybe have a chat, see how you are, that kind of thing? You know, in case you wanted to talk or anything, or you needed some company or…"

She trailed off as Elsa set her pen down, and back ram-rod straight, turned to face her. She looked terrible. She looked, Anna thought, like she was going to have a 'fit of mania' as the physician would say. Her face was grey, with purplish streaks under red-rimmed eyes. Her hair was downright scary.

"Anna?" Elsa blinked slowly, internally repeating _don't shout don't shout don't shout_, "I thought I told you I was busy."

Anna shuffled further into the room. Somehow, in three little steps, she had managed to knock over a pile of folders stacked on a side table. "Well, yeah. It's just you've been in here all day, and I thought, well maybe I could, can I help?"

And then she was by the desk, dirty fingerprints smudging down a carefully drawn up table of expenses - and why couldn't the Mayor have organised the Town Hall roof repair _before_ he resigned?

"Anna please don't touch that!"

Anna pulled her hand away quickly, as though it had been stung. Elsa let out a long sigh and tried to smile. It came out like a painful grimace.

"I just… need to get this done today. These letters need sending off before tomorrow and the harbour master needs… oh I don't even know." She was back to shuffling through papers, lifting books and scraping her notes together.

"Here," Anna said, leaning over, "let me hel– " _Clink_. Anna's elbow connected with the ink pot. A dark blue pool spread across the desk and completely obliterated the table of expenses.

Elsa closed her eyes. She counted to five. Then ten. She kept her voice carefully controlled, eyes still shut. "I love you very much. But please go away. Now."

* * *

When Kristoff returned to the palace that evening it was to find Anna and Olaf sat on the steps outside the main door, both looking incredibly glum.

"Ok, do I even want to ask?"

"We tried to help." Anna spoke to her shoes.

"And Elsa got mad." Olaf sounded like he was about to cry.

"And I spilt ink everywhere."

"And I dripped water everywhere."

"And she's got all these letters to write."

"And things to sign."

"And money to allocate."

"And her hair's a mess."

"And she didn't come to dinner."

Kristoff nodded. He took one of Olaf's little stick arms in one hand, and Anna's warm fingers in the other. "Ok, come on."

* * *

When they opened the study door a little while later they found Elsa asleep at her desk, head resting on a heavy book of accounts. Her fingers were stained blue from ink, and Olaf was right. Her hair looked dreadful.

They worked quickly, stifling giggles as they rearranged furniture and piled stacks of books strategically. They sent a bemused Gerda to fetch all the pillows from the bedrooms, and an equally bemused Kai down to the kitchens for what Anna called "essential supplies". Elsa slept on, snoring gently, even when they picked her up and moved her ever so gently.

When Elsa woke it was to the smell of hot chocolate. She found herself lying on a pile of pillows, under some sort of… tent? In her study?

"Hey there, sleepyhead!" Olaf's carrot nose almost poked her in the head as he reached over to pat her shoulder. Anna and Kristoff were there too, both grinning widely and holding mugs.

"Um…?"

"Blanket fort!" Kristoff sounded exceptionally pleased with himself.

"Here, have some hot chocolate!" Anna thrust a mug into her hand.

"But… I'm busy… I have all that– "

"Nope!" Anna cut her off, still grinning manically. "We are putting you under fort-arrest. You have to stay here and drink hot chocolate, and eat sweets, and tell silly stories, and laugh, and stop being such a dragon-lady, and the outside world can just disappear for now. You've done enough for today.."

"But, Anna, I have to– "

"Nope! Here, have some chocolate." She stuffed a large piece of it into Elsa's gaping mouth.

"Is this your doing?" Elsa demanded of Kristoff, trying, and failing, to sound dignified through the mouthful of chocolate.

"What can I say?" He shrugged. "Raised by trolls here."

"And you are not allowed out until your hair is less… scary." Olaf concluded.

Elsa giggled, her fingertips against her lips politely. And then she opened her mouth and laughed. And laughed, and laughed until her sides hurt and her face ached.

"Oh, gosh. I am so sorry. It's just… I'm just so sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Anna smiled, "Here, have some of these sweets. They're made with sugar and eggs, and I think that's it, just sugar and eggs and maybe flour? But they're sooo good. They're called marshmallows! So, who's going first in the silly-story contest?"

When Kai bobbed his head around the door a few hours later he found the princess, the ice master, the snowman and the queen lying on pillows in a blanket fort, all talking and laughing at once, and all looking like they were completely and utterly happy. And they were.


	2. Chapter 2 - Rumours and Innocence

AN: I have combined the last two prompts into one here as I was on holiday last week. Any feedback would be most welcomed (literally, anything at all - hate it? like it? ambivalent towards it?) - thanks for reading :)

Rated: MA - it's a bit smutty ;)  
Pairing: Kristanna  
Summary: Kristoff hears some rumours flying around the castle which send his thoughts in new directions. Meanwhile Anna is trying to find the right words to express her desires.

Disclaimer - Disney does not belong to me.

* * *

Rumours are like whispers, falling into dark spaces and curling around corners and window-ledges. They seep into the walls, like a certain smell you can't locate. They stick to you and clog your airways. The source unknown, they undulate in waves across minds and bodies and stick to the insides of eyelids late at night.

Kristoff had been living there for only a few months, and, unused to people anyway, moving into the castle was a big change. Suddenly there were people _everywhere_. Men appeared by his bedside every morning, to light his fire and lay out his clothes and all sorts of ridiculous things he was quite capable of doing himself. But that was palace life and it was sort of okay. The rumours were not.

He was, fortunately or unfortunately (depending on how you looked at it), blessed with exceptional hearing. Fortunately had kept him alive when others might not have heard the almost-silent crack in the ice below his feet. Fortunately meant he'd heard Anna's broken whisper of his name across the winds and frozen fjord. Unfortunately was that his family were loud, like, really, really loud. Unfortunately was hearing the rumours, the whispers, low voices hidden around corners and he had to close his eyes and breathe deeply. Unfortunately was that he had to fight the urge to storm around such corners and find whatever guard or butler or kitchen-boy dared to speak such things and raise his fists to them.

It was unnerving. He was not, by nature, a violent person. He could remember only one time in his life before the castle walls that he had wanted to hit anybody – and even then he never actually did it. The idea of punching that _slime-ball_ pleased him more than he was entirely comfortable with. The idea of hitting anybody was new, and different... but this was different. This was about Anna.

_I heard she's a little firecracker_

_I heard she begs to have her hair pulled_

_I heard she takes his whole dick in her mouth_

_And swallows_

_I heard she spread her legs the first night she met him_

_I heard she loves it everywhere – and anywhere_

_She'll do anything for a bit of cock_

_I heard she's a filthy fucking whore in bed_

_And out of it_

It made him sick. To hear words like that being passed around from their dirty mouths, mouths unworthy of even breathing the same air as her.

And worse was that she was completely oblivious. Worse was that she was kind and sweet and funny, and never suspected these _men_ (if they could be called that) would ever speak of her like that. Worse was that she _liked_ having so many people on the palace payroll, she enjoyed them being there, she was content for them to wander the halls while she slept. Worse was that it was all entirely untrue.

Worst was that – and he could only admit it to the very depths of the dark nights, alone in bed and filled with that burning curling heat – worst of all was that he almost liked it.

Picturing Anna, with all her sweetness and light, seeing her the way they talked about her, it coiled inside him deep in his gut, made him twitch and ache and flush. He hated them, and tried to hate himself for listening to the echo of them late at night, but he couldn't stop.

I would never speak about her like that though, he thought. I would never reduce her to that. I would never make her feel like anything less than a goddess if (when) I take her to bed.

His mind instantly fell to an image of Anna, flesh bared and slicked with sweat. Lips swollen with the faint bruise of fingertips lingering around her thighs and breasts and hips. In his head she is on her knees. She is on her knees on the bed and pressing her face into the covers, raising her behind in the air before him. He is standing, watching her, eyes roaming over her perfect skin. She is open and spread for him, slightly pink and glistening. He extends a fingers and gently, so gently he is barely touching her, traces it around her outer lips. He watches as she twitches and pulses for him. He hears a whimper fall from her mouth. He brings his finger to his mouth and runs it across his lower lip, his tongue darting out to capture the faint taste of her left there. In his head he presses the palm of his hand heavy onto the base of her spine. He raises the other into the air, poised, ready to-

He opened his eyes, feeling the sticky warmth of his release spattered across his stomach under the covers. The heat, the urgency, the blind and raw _want_ was gone and he was left to clean himself up and try to ignore the shameful cold now flooding through him. He would never let her know. Never, that this was what he thought about in the dark. He would never let her know about the rumours that he both hated and craved, or all those dark things he burned to do to her innocent flesh.

* * *

Anna felt like she was going crazy. She couldn't stop thinking about Kristoff – his body in particular. Predominantly a certain part of his body coupled with a certain part (parts) of hers.

She didn't even have words for what she wanted him to do to her. She was no stranger to the phrases 'laying with a man' or 'making love', but they just didn't feel _enough_. She wanted him to... devour her. To consume. For his skin to burn against hers until she couldn't take any more, and then for it not to stop. She wanted nails to leave scarlet lines across her breasts, teeth to press to her thighs and leave their imprint in a semi-permanent brand of 'you are mine'. She could hardly breathe under the weight of _want_.

She was sure, having combed meticulously through every book on the subject she could find, that the words she needed for this extended far beyond simply 'laying with' Kristoff.

Of course, she wanted that. She wanted to make love to him, in warm afternoon sunlight with kisses and laughter, but those weren't the thoughts that kept her awake in the dark. Those weren't the thoughts that ached and burned under her skin and made her tingle – thoughts that made her slide her hand down between her legs and stroke herself, finding that little place that felt so good and stroking and rubbing. Faster, harder, to climaxes that moaned from her mouth and clutched at the bed-sheets with toes and fingertips.

Those thoughts seemed to haunt every waking moment now too. A great deal of her blushes and flustered gestures these days were because her mind was entranced in ideas that she just _knew _she could never voice.

How, she thought, how could these lips put words to _that_? Virgin lips of the still-only-18-year-old, still very much innocent princess. It was absurd. Even the notion of going to Kristoff's room, or inviting him into hers, under cover of darkness was utterly absurd. It just couldn't happen. Not yet, anyway. Soon though, perhaps? It could be soon...

It had to be. She didn't think she could stand not knowing his body for much longer. Having it pressed up against her with nothing to separate them, moving together and feeling his... his... – she couldn't even think the word without blushing – with him inside her. She imagined how it would feel, tried to gain some grasp of the sensation with her own fingers but it never felt _enough_.

Their kisses were getting longer and more, much more, intense. It was harder now to pull away, to stop herself from clutching at him and trying to draw him closer. She had taken to fisting her fingers in his hair, to letting her hands roam across his shoulders and down his chest, around his waist and up his back as though mapping the planes of his body and committing them to memory.

She wanted more, and she knew (hoped) that he wanted more from her too. It seemed that way. He was always the one to end their kisses now, although he did at least have the good grace to look pained at doing so. He was as breathless as she was, eyes closed and trying to regain some semblance of reality – or that was how it seemed to her anyway. Lately, since she had been pressing closer and closer, she had felt _something_ hard against her, something that made her thighs clench and quiver. It made her heavy with warmth and wanting and she couldn't put words to it but she _wanted_ it.

* * *

"_So, do you think you've been good enough?"_

_She nods, biting her lip, looking up at him through damp eyelashes. Her knees are aching against the wooden floor, her feet tingling from being sat back on them, thighs apart and waiting. Her hands are tied behind her back._

_He steps forward, nudges the inside of each knee with the tip of his boot, and murmurs "wider"._

_A little whimper falls from her lips and she forces her hips forward, and legs even further apart. Tiny beads of sweat gleam on her skin – who knew staying still could be so much hard work? Her muscles are screaming. She feels the air cool against her, exposed to him as much as her kneeling position allows. _

_His fingertips trace over her eyelids, down her cheek, his thumb brushes across her lower lip and she darts her tongue out to taste just the barest trace of his skin. _

"_Don't move."_

_He walks behind her, away from her, and she ... _

wakes up. Alone in the dark, twisted in the covers and legs wrapped around a spare cushion. It had to be soon, innocence be damned. She was going crazy.


End file.
